


Timed Decisions

by stellarmnky



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Dry Humping, M/M, Office Sex, Post-Canon, Reader-Interactive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:01:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25225723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stellarmnky/pseuds/stellarmnky
Summary: A simple discussion over an activity report takes a turn when Hank suspects his partner is hiding something. From then on, Connor works out a few possibilities on how to handle the situation.
Relationships: Hank Anderson/Connor
Comments: 14
Kudos: 102





	1. Introduction

It had been a day like any other at the Detroit Police Department. Busy as ever, if the aftermath of last year’s android revolution is anything to go by. Investigation of suspicious activity, prejudice against liberated androids, answers to city code violations and many other calls for service. Officers filled new reports on the department’s databank every day, showing no signs of slowing down their pace in a foreseeable future.

That meant every sentient being walking around had plenty of work to do—but none of that mattered to Connor at the moment.

He had been sitting on his partner’s messy desk for some time now, ignoring the perfectly working chair right by his side. Instead of paying attention to his colleagues typing on their computers or indulging themselves in mundane chatter, he stares at the entrance door from afar, patiently waiting.

The coin he tosses around in his idleness is nowhere to be found. In its place, a translucent, tablet-like object rests in his hands.

Two police officers storm through the door with a human suspect. Then a maintenance android walks in with a floor buffing machine, followed by another police officer. Nothing stirs any reaction.

A passerby probably would not be able to notice anything different about Connor when the next person walks in, but the fact remains that his central processor unit experiences a huge spike in activity when he finally spots a grizzled old man at the door.

Connor follows lieutenant Hank Anderson with his eyes as he enters the room, tracking his movements until his wrinkled leather jacket disappears from view. When the LED on the side of his head blinks in a yellow light the rectangular material in his hands lights up, suddenly filled with text and pictures like the magazines he often sees scattered across the room.

After swiping through the pages—even though he already knew the entirety of its contents—Connor gets off the table and makes his way through the office, heading towards the place where he’d seen Hank entering moments earlier.

“Oh hey,” he hears Hank greet when the door to the cafeteria slides open, glancing at him from over his shoulder and then turning his attention back to the coffee machine he stood in front of.

“I’m sorry to bother when you’re taking a break, lieutenant. This about the case we’ve been assigned.”

Hank turns around, scratching the back of his neck with a low grunt.

“Just call me _Hank_ , Connor. There’s no one around.”

“I see,” he acknowledges without batting an eye. Recalibrating his speech pattern takes him no more than a second. “Well, Hank, I need your signature on this activity report before we pass it on to our superiors.”

After grabbing a steaming cup from the coffee machine, Hank signs Connor for the tablet. Having an android taking care of the paperwork sure seemed convenient for him. He even went as far as completely trusting Connor with those kinds of tasks, rushing to the last page and signing his agreement to everything without ever reading a single word.

As touched as Connor felt about the act, he also deemed it highly unprofessional, never missing a chance to voice his concerns and thoroughly advocate proper workplace procedures.

Hank probably doesn’t want to hear all of that now, judging from the way he swipes through the pages—too fast to reach the average human’s standards for optimal text comprehension, but long enough for Connor to let it slide. The way he nods his head every now and then in a flimsy attempt at showing some consideration for the report despite the intermittent tap of his foot is even close to attaining a gesture of positive reinforcement out of him.

It all comes to a halt before he has the chance to express his approval, though.

Hank’s fingers freeze on the screen and then he moves them in the opposite direction. The grip in his cup tightens slightly and his eyes widen when he reads the previous page again.

“What the fuck is this?” he finally asks, turning the tablet around and shaking it in front of Connor.

“That would be a list of all biological evidence I’ve collected during our investigation,” the android replies, pleased to be of assistance in his inquiry.

“A list of everything you put in your mouth this week. Yeah, yeah, I figured that much,” Hank cuts him off, waving his arm dismissively. “I meant what’s _on_ the list.”

Dried blue blood, model PL-600. Fresh blue blood, model WB-200. The materials went on until a different pattern of information showed up. DNA belonging to Lieutenant Hank Anderson collected from saliva samples, along with a few scientific terms describing other kinds of organic fluids. The kinds that were inherently related to sexual activity.

Everything neatly displayed on a plain, monochromatic spreadsheet—date, time and locations thoroughly included.

Hank seems to have given up on the coffee he had just poured for himself. It has already lost a slight portion of its heat when he abandons it on the counter and leans against the edge for support, still staring at his partner’s eyes in shock.

“Goddammit, Connor, I don’t believe you were- every time we-“

“The analysis process happens automatically, if that’s what you’re getting at,” Connor promptly adds, kindly contributing to his reasoning.

Hank doesn’t seem pleased to hear the confirmation, though. His face looks slightly paler than before, increasing the contrast between the flashy shirt he wore underneath his jacket even further. After running a hand through his hair, he holds his palm against his forehead and sighs. Instead of a cup of coffee, Connor would advise a glass of water at this point.

“You have to do something about it,” he hears Hank urge, making it pretty clear he had no idea what that ‘something’ could be.

Contrasting to the helpful insights Connor had been so keen on sharing just moments ago, he merely cocks his head to one side and crosses his arms with a blank expression.

“Why should I?”

The sudden change in attitude throws Hank for a loop. He blinks in confusion, opening his mouth to intervene, but no words come out.

“I shouldn’t have to tell you _why_ ,” he finally manages, settling on an insufficient, evasive argument after a few tries. “Are you really going to play dumb about it?”

When Connor stays silent, Hank’s astonishment quickly gives way to suspicion.

“Wait a minute,” he says after another pause, drawing out the words as he points an accusing finger at his partner, even though he haven't even started his case yet. “I know you’re far from naïve.”

A quick scan on Connor's recent memory return a few registries that could justify the statement, but he refrains from asking for clarification to avoid derailing the conversation.

Unaware of his digressive curiosities, Hank keeps on openly exposing his distrust.

“You _know_ why. You just wanted to _show_ me, isn’t that right?”

Taking a step forward, Hank deliberately lowers his head to better study his partner’s expression.

“You can tell me now that I’ve seen it,” he offers. “What are you up to?”

Connor stands his ground as Hank gets even closer, narrowing his eyes as he folds his arms tightly across his chest. He had just picked a credible lead, and his confident posture is more than enough indication that he would follow it through the end.

“Come on now,” he insists. “Out with it.”

In order to continue the conversation, Connor would have to choose his approach wisely.

[ ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25225723/chapters/61145581#workskin)  
[ ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25225723/chapters/61148515#workskin)  
[ ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25225723/chapters/61149277#workskin)  
[ ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25225723/chapters/61149793#workskin)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a lot of fun playing DBH and watching how the story would unfold from the dialogue options, so this is an attempt at replicating that on a fanfic! As you may have already guessed, each chapter shows a different scenario from this point onwards. 
> 
> What will you choose?


	2. TEASE

The confrontational stance is not an uncommon occurrence. It’s the clear attempt at intimidation Hank often resorts to whenever someone pisses him off. That includes Connor as well, of course, but he wouldn’t let himself be swayed by it this time.

“What do you expect me to do?” comes out his calm reply. “Tamper an official police report?”

Hank pauses for a moment, visibly taken aback by the implication.

“These add nothing to the investigation,” he stammers, trying to get back on his feet. “Yet here you are, acting on some weird fetish of sending proof that you’ve been sucking my dick during work hours to our superiors. Just my luck.”

Connor grazes his chin in amused consideration. Hank didn’t rise to his bait and remained calm enough to raise a valid argument in his favor. If Connor wants a reaction out of him he would have to tempt his patience a little further.

“I never said I derived sexual pleasure from biological data reports or standard corporate practices,” he corrects with a smile. “As a matter of fact, I never said I intended to send it like that, either. I could easily delete those records if I wanted to.”

The revelation comes casually, as if he’s adding some small, trivial detail to the conversation. The snarky look in his face gives his teasing away, and that is more than enough to send Hank past his boiling point. He has a remarkable short temper when it comes to being played or taken for a fool, after all. It just so happens that Connor had gotten good enough at reading the patterns in his partner's behavior that he could give it a little push towards a certain direction.

It wasn’t the kind of information he would consciously be on the lookout for—just an automatic feature his creators deemed necessary to aid on investigations. A feature that _did_ come in handy at times like these as well.

“Is this some kind of joke to you?” Hank fumes, grabbing Connor by the collar of his jacket and yanking him forward. “You’re punishing me because I never read the reports, aren’t you? Well, I clearly read them just now, asshole.”

Connor tilts his head and grins, raising his hands defensively. “You assumed that on your own.”

The tightening of Hank’s fist on his collar, as well as the sudden increase in his heart rate indicate that Connor should brace for a violent response.

As expected, Hank sucks in a sharp breath and pushes him shortly after. Connor’s back hits the coffee machine with a dull thud, but he doesn’t do so much as flinch. He'll offer no resistance because he finally has Hank exactly where he wants him.

“You said you can erase those records,” Hank recalls, raising the tablet to his face. “Do that. _Now._ “

The LED in Connor's temper briefly flickers. When it’s back to a stable shade of blue, Hank breaks eye contact to check the text again.

“Good boy,” he smirks. Different cues are detected by Connor then.

Despite the deep voice sounding steady—albeit slightly breathless—he can feel a light tremble on the hand Hank has on his collar. It accompanies other subtle signs, such as a rise in his body temperature, slight flush in his face and dilation of his pupils. Connor recognizes them too.

The confirmation that proof of their previous—and future—misbehaviors could be deleted held a heartful promise, and Hank apparently wouldn't wait long to fulfill it. When the grip on Connor's collar falter, Hank's hand slide to the back of his neck.

"What else can you do?” he asks in a low growl.

"I think you already have some ideas," Connor earnestly replies, leaning against his touch.

Without looking away, Hank abandons the tablet on the counter by the side of the coffee machine and wets his lips, apparently dwelling on his next words.

"Lock the door," he challenges.

As soon as Connor's audio processor registers the order, the door slides shut behind them.

“The cafeteria is currently under maintenance."

Hank hums appreciatively, then turns his head to the side to point somewhere else with his chin. "Now do something about that camera, will you?"

Specifications of its location weren't needed. In a matter of seconds, all registries of their presence vanish from the surveillance data, as well as any pieces of information that could trace back to his fiddling.

“We’ve never been here.”

Even though Hank had been the one to make the requests, he still stares at Connor in awe, astounded that he could actually follow his orders in a gratuitous showcase of his abilities as cyberlife's ultimate prototype.

“ _Damn, Connor,_ " he lets out under his breath.

Connor parts his lips, hoping to convey how willing he is to be under his authority. How he wouldn't do that to anyone else. An artificial brain couldn't quite replicate neurochemical reactions of pleasure, but Connor derived similar satisfaction from that particular sense of purpose.

“I await further instructions, sir.”

The words carried a different weight from the soft, sultry way in which they had been spoken. At last, Hank cups his nape and pulls him closer, releasing the tension between them in a passionate, urgent kiss.

Words aren't necessary for his next command—Connor understands the slight pressure of his partner's hands on his shoulders just as clearly. He eagerly drops to his knees, moving over so Hank is the one leaning against the coffee machine instead.

Throwing his head back, Hank groans as Connor mouths the outline of the growing bulge in front of his pants, already grasping at his belt to unfasten the buckle.

"That's it... Take it out," Hank urges, settling a hand over his head to thread fine, dark hair between his fingers.

After getting his pants out of the way, Connor grips his hardening cock and pulls it upright to run his lips over the head. Looking up a moment later, he relishes in the way Hank's eyes glaze over at the sight.

Connor wouldn't be opposed to a little more stimulation then. Wouldn't be opposed if Hank grabbed his hair tight and forced his cock inside his mouth, right down to the base.

Instead, he settles for closing his hand just enough to hint at what he _could_ do, and pushes lightly.

“Suck it.”

Connor's eyes flutter closed as his lips wrap around the shaft of Hank's cock, the slick insides of his cheeks hollowing as he sucks hard. Using one of his hands to stroke what he couldn't reach, he works his mouth up and down, soon setting a rhythm that he can easily sustain with practiced dexterity.

The identified taste of precome in his tongue, on top of being one more line from a sheet he would have to delete later, is also a sign that Hank wouldn't last long. Connor sees it as a cue to slide his free hand down and start fumbling with his belt in hopes of finding his own release—a need his creators didn't actually anticipate, but could still be achieved with the right tinkering of his settings.

They had plenty of time to perfect the process in the wake of his deviancy. So much that Connor can execute all related actions in the background while he collects feedback from other sources, such as the way Hank's breath hitches whenever his tongue hits a sensitive spot, or the gratifying signals elicited from the hand playing with his hair.

Having just popped the top button of his jeans open, Connor slides it downwards with one swift move, just enough to better allow him access to the briefs he wore underneath. He's halfway through reaching to the waistband of his underwear when he feels a sharp pressure from that very hand hand tightening its grip in his scalp.

" _Don't,_ " he hears Hank order.

Despite immediately halting all subsequent actions, Connor finds himself unable to conceal his surprise over the request. Hank hardly ever acted in ways that went outside the range of his predictions. Unless he had misinterpreted a sign somewhere, he would never be as selfish as to actually deny him release.

Thousands of possibilities start being calculated as Connor pulls Hank out of his mouth, the intensity of his mental processing making the LED in his temple change its hue. He looks up expecting some kind of clarification, only to find Hank staring at him with a smirk in his face.

Without saying anything else, he slowly extends one of his legs forward, letting it rest in the space between Connor's.

"Use this instead," he offers with a purposeful raise of eyebrows.

A small, surprised gasp escapes Connor's lips when he brushes it against his inner thighs. He tries to assess his database, carefully analyze how he should react to the unprecedented occurrence, but something in his software seems to stop working the way it should.

After sitting absolutely still for a moment, he gives up on trying to make sense of the instability, spreading his legs further apart and hesitantly rolling his hips to rub up closer against Hank instead.

"There you go..." says Hank in a low, self-satisfied whisper. "Keep going."

Connor repeats the move, a little more confident this time. The added friction from the fabric is intense, but still pleasant against his pale, artificial skin. Biting down on his bottom lip, he dares leaning forward. A moan escapes him the next time he moves, and it soon turns into a stream of poorly held back noises as he rides Hank's leg.

Allowing himself to be in such a vulnerable position in order to seek out his pleasure from an indirect source feels strangely thrilling. Without being instructed, he takes Hank's cock back into his mouth, going as deep as he can every time he dips his head and filling the room with wet, obscene noises.

A mix of Hank's increasingly incoherent curses add to the setting, and they go on until he gasps and comes with a deep, drawn out groan. Connor moans and swallows around him, working his hips in a broken rhythm until he reaches his climax as well.

They stay as they are for a short while, riding out their high and cooling down from the intense experience. For Hank, that means leaning heavily against the coffee machine as he tries to catch his breath. For Connor, resting his head against Hank's thigh with slightly tousled hair and mouth still glistening with come and synthetic spit as he silently tries to process what happened.

According to self established protocols, he is aware that they should get ready and leave. Strangely enough, Hank beats him to it this time, tucking himself back into his pants and straightening his jacket with a quick tug on the lapels.

"Bet you didn't see that coming, huh," he brags with a subtle, victorious smile. "You're not the only one full of surprises today."

Connor can't fire a comeback that matches his teasing tone. It's not like he has to worry about the inconvenient exhaustion that follows intense physical activity, but he still registers a certain amount of delay in the execution of his actions somehow.

Apparently catching on to the inconsistencies in his behavior, Hank calls out to him.

"Hey," he starts, somewhat worried, grabbing his arm to help him up. "You okay?"

"I-- I would like to try that again sometime," Connor replies at last, finally finding his voice as he gets back on his feet but realizing shortly after that his answer did not match the inquiry at all.

Hank doesn't seem to notice, or rather, doesn't deem it worthy of being pointed out. "Yeah, of course," he laughs. "Preferably somewhere that's not the fucking cafeteria, alright?"

Connor allows himself to smile at the comment, but deliberately refrains from announcing that he can't make any promises. After results from a quick scan confirm that his systems were back into stable condition, he looks around the room to make sure no signs of their encounter remained at the spot.

In another surprising, unprecedented occurrence, Hank reaches out to adjust his pants and tuck his shirt back into a presentable shape. Connor stays still as he does so, taking the opportunity to raise his chin and tilt his head to the side so he could fix his tie as well. Hank's hands are a bit too rough and the results are slightly subpar for his standards, but the loving, intimate gesture is greatly appreciated either way.

"We should get going," he announces with a bashful pat on Connor's shoulder before heading towards the door. "We have a meeting soon."

As easily as he had done earlier, Connor removes the maintenance sign from the door and lets it slide open again. Reaching out to the tablet that had started it all, he smoothes out his hair with one swift swipe of his hand and follows Hank as he leaves.

[<< BACK](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25225723/chapters/61145047#anchor)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was the first one I wrote! It was originally supposed to be just that, but then I got a little carried away, heh. After putting it away for months my girlfriend encouraged me to finish it, so now you can also see it in its full (doubtful) glory. Thanks for reading!


	3. PLAY COY

“I simply don't see anything wrong with those records,” Connor casually replies. "They really depict what happened."

Hank drops his shoulders and sighs, apparently buying his superficial, innocent overlook on the situation. He's probably unaware that the underestimation of his reasoning creates an opening that turns the tides to Connor's favor, and he intends to keep things that way.

“We really kissed inside a bathroom stall that morning," he points out in a sweet, conversational tone, cutting Hank before he has the chance to reply. "Then you loosened my tie and opened my shirt so you could roll your tongue over my-"

Hank jumps forward before the phrase can be finished, waving his arms frantically. "Keep it down," he blurts through gritted teeth, darting his eyes over Connor's shoulder to make sure no one stood on the hallway.

Connor does as he's told, switching his output settings to a soft, silky whisper instead of simply lowering the volume of his voice.

"We also booked a room at a love hotel while we were on patrol the other day," he notes, leaning forward with a smile. "You were all over me as soon as the door closed. Do you remember?"

Hank mutters a breathy 'yeah...' in spite of himself, then snaps out of his daze by loudly clearing his throat.

Amazing how those unfinished descriptions managed to get him in such a state, and they only covered the very basics about a few items on the list. Connor doesn't have to worry about memory decay like humans do, so the details would always be vividly accessible in his storage.

"I liked the way you looked at me then," he recalls, taking a step in Hank's direction. "Liked to feel the heat on your body. The pressure of your hands on my hips as you watched me ride you."

Hank moves sideways to keep from being cornered by him, but doesn't go very far. As much as he tries—and horribly fails—to imply otherwise, the recollection of their indiscretions seems to be affecting him more than Connor had previously anticipated. Rough calculations estimate that he would be giving in soon.

Instead of further enticing his imagination and speeding up the process, Connor bites his lip, looking him up and down with a slow, measuring stare.

“I can go on," he teases.

"You probably shouldn't," Hank advises with a nervous tug at his collar, his voice totally lacking in conviction.

He takes a step back when Connor tries to approach him again, only stopping when the back of his hips hit the countertop edge by the side of the coffee machine.

"I can also delete the records on that report, if that's what you're worried about," Connor finally reveals, raising a hand to touch his chest tentatively. "Or any others that could be registered from now on."

The implied invitation didn't go unnoticed, judging from the way Hank's hands rise to grasp at Connor's arms, but he somehow manages to bring them back down by sheer force of will, looking away with a conflicted expression.

“Connor, come on... This is different," he tries to argue. "Look at where we are, for fuck's sake. There's no way we won't get caught.”

Just as he finishes his sentence, Hank is startled by the door closing behind them with a maintenance sign suddenly displayed in front of it. Before he has the chance to figure out what happened, Connor directs his gaze to the camera on the top corner of the room, just in time for him to see the blinking red light on it going off.

“We won’t get caught,” he repeats with a reassuring shake of his head.

Hank's eyes go from the camera to the door before he finds Connor's again. A quick analysis returns conflicting signs of either astonishment or awe in his face. Possibly a mix of both.

“You’re not above bending a few rules to get what you want, aren’t you?”

Connor flaunts his impeccable uniform, adjusting his tie as he flashes the slightest hint of a smirk. “I always accomplish my mission.”

Hank lets out a dry laugh at the sight. “And your mission right now is to get on my pants, is that it?”

“Is it working?”

The question serves more as a rhetorical statement rather than anything else, because Hank takes hold of Connor's waist when he leans forward, pulling him closer to finally lock their lips together.

Hank's rough hands roam around as they kiss, earning encouraging hums out of Connor. His touches are reciprocated with a gradative increase in intensity, trailing a path that would naturally escalate into other kinds of stimuli, but Connor can tell that Hank is not acting like he usually does, only half-heartedly playing along instead of responding accordingly.

The continued hesitation is puzzling. Connor had dealt with his primary sources of apprehension so they didn't become a hindrance to his performance, after all. He had nothing to worry about.

A number of tactics could be used to encourage more proactivity, but Connor ditches them all for a blunt, honest approach. Breaking away from Hank, he cups his face to stare into his eyes.

“I want this, Hank,” he pleads, lowering his voice to a whisper. "I want you."

Hank lets out a strangled gasp. “Look-- I’m not exactly what you’d call employee of the month," he tries to argue in a last, desperate attempt at holding on to his better judgement. "But we do have a meeting soon."

Without breaking eye contact, Connor reaches down to grasp at the bulge on the front of his pants.

“Then I suppose we must be quick.”

Hank's breath catches in his throat when Connor punctuates the statement by giving it a light squeeze. Closing his eyes, he lets out a colorful string of curses when Connor starts stroking him through the fabric. Though the words might imply otherwise, he's already grinding against his hand as well, panting and aching for more friction.

"Oh, to hell with it," he cries out at last, using a hand to bunch up Connor's jacket and spin him around with one swift move.

Aside from their current location, there is nothing new about that process. No need to waste time going over the mechanics of getting intimate with an android, or the moral implications behind Cyberlife's decision of building their ultimate prototype as anatomically correct as possible.

Connor pitches forward when Hank bends him over the counter, splaying his hands out for support on the polished surface.

"Is this what you want?" he hears Hank ask in a harsh, contemptuous whisper, leaning forward until his chest is flush with his back.

"Yes," Connor gasps, already working his hips against him. "That's exactly what I want, Hank. Give it to me."

"Goddammit, Connor," Hank curses as he steadies his hands on his waist to hold him in place. "When did you become this much of a pervert?"

"Who knows?" Connor muses out loud, feigning serious consideration to the question. "When did you start making up excuses to fuck me during work hours?"

Clicking his tongue, Hank doesn't pursue the topic further. He must have realized he only had himself to blame for the initial endorsement of this kind of behavior—the first entry in an unusual learning curve of indecent activities.

Then again, the sound of him fumbling with his belt indicate that the comment shouldn't be interpreted as a complaint. When he's done he wastes no time to help Connor with his own, yanking his pants and underwear down without further ceremonies.

Already guessing what would happen next, Connor looks over his shoulder, ready when Hank directs a hand to his mouth. Rolling his tongue over his fingers, he makes a show out of getting them wet.

That's usually how it goes when they don't have lube at their disposal. Taking the way his spit is slippery enough and doesn't dry as quickly as regular saliva into consideration, it makes for a perfect alternative.

Already panting, Hank gives himself a few purposeful strokes before directing his cock at Connor's entrance. His partner sucks in a sharp breath when he presses forward in one hot slide, welcoming him inside with a drawn out groan.

Hank soon sets a steady rhythm, rolling his hips as the short sighs of encouragement from Connor drive him deeper and harder with each thrust.

Getting off the counter, Connor props himself up so he can rest his head on Hank's shoulder, arching his back amidst a stream of muffled moans and whimpers.

Hank takes the opportunity to trails kisses along his neck before letting his hand drop lower, moving down to investigate his chest, the curve of his stomach and the hard cock between his legs—fully functioning thanks to a few adjustments taken from a compatible companion model.

Taking hold of it and stroking in time with his thrusts, Hank picks up his pace until he comes in a shuddering rush. Beneath him, Connor trembles as he reaches his climax as well, covering Hank's hand, as well as the countertop in front of him with hot spurts of white.

Long seconds pass as they lay wrapped in each other's arms.

"Happy now?" he hears Hank ask as he finally finds it in him to put some distance between them.

Connor slowly nods, turning around to face him with a self-satisfied smirk.

"Help me clean up this mess before we leave," he gruffly calls out, extending his wet hand in Connor's direction.

The way he points his chin to the napkin holders on the counter next to them leaves no doubt as to what his request was about, but Connor still chooses to ignore it out of his own volition.

Without any warnings, he grabs Hank's hand and gives it a tentative lick. Soon moving on to lap up his own come, he can't help but notice how Hank watches him for a solid five seconds before finally jerking his hand away.

"Just pass me the napkins, for fuck's sake," he recoils with a slight stutter.

Connor does as he's told, chuckling when he offers him the requested item.

"Fucking pervert," Hank adds as he yanks them out of his hands. Despite the condescending tone, there's nothing that indicates reproval in his eyes. "Now hurry up, we gotta go."

"Understood."

[<< BACK](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25225723/chapters/61145047#anchor)


	4. BLUFF

As expected from an experienced police officer, Hank had already analyzed the situation and made a series of assumptions—first one being that Connor has some kind of ulterior motive for showing him the report. By openly confronting him about it, he probably expects to confirm whether he's right or not, as well as find out what could be done about the records.

Squinting his eyes, Connor starts to question how far he can take those conclusions and what kind of truths he could get out of Hank—even if it means hiding a few of his own.

“I'm not up to anything," he straight out bluffs, going as far as stressing the words as if the mere implication of it sounds absurd. "I can’t erase those records.”

Hank's mouth hangs open for a few seconds before he squeezes his eyes shut to pinch the bridge of his nose. That, along with the exasperated sigh that follows, serves as an indication that he had successfully bought into the deceit.

The negative reaction is not exactly surprising, considering the circumstances, but something about the intensity of his aversion bothers Connor. As if to add to his discomfort, Hank walks to the nearest table and pulls out a chair, resting his palms against his forehead as he sits.

"Oh my god," he groans aloud. "I need a drink."

Connor's piercing eyes stare at him from across the table. In hopes of identifying a source for his uneasiness, he abandons his initial reasoning to process the pieces of information he had acquired until then over and over again, unaware that the strain in his mental capacities lead him towards a path of conclusions he probably wouldn't reach under normal circumstances.

As purposefully designed by cyberlife, external signs of stress can be kept to a bare minimum. Disregarding instability warnings, Connor decides that the only way to get to the bottom of this would be to press Hank further, inevitably adding more lies to cover up for his story as he goes.

“I don’t see how that’s such a big deal,” he muses in a soothing, controlled tone. “You didn’t seem to mind when I sent the other ones.”

Hank's eyes immediately dart at him, widening in alarm. “The other ones?" he asks in distress. "There were more of them?”

“That’s right, Hank,” Connor confirms with a slow nod, leaning forward to rest his palms on the table. "You signed a lot of reports without reading them. They all know about us at this point.”

Hank looks appalled at the prospect. “You couldn’t have done this,” he quivers, clutching his forehead. “You should have told me!”

Connor quietly looks down on him. If Hank honestly believed their superiors had seen reports before, he must have also realized they never received any kind of punishment for the things they did during investigations. According to Connor's hasty deductions, that could only mean his worries went beyond a possible reprimand for their inability to perform their duties without giving in to paralel distractions.

Clicking his tongue, he turns his gaze away, not bearing to look at Hank any longer.

“It’s not against the rules to be in a relationship with a colleague, yet you react in such a bad way to the mere implication of being in one with me..." he muses in a low voice, not bothering to disguise his chagrin. "I guess you’d be in a pinch if I really sent those records.”

From the corner of his eyes, he can still catch the way Hank's brow furrow as he shifts in his seat, blinking in confusion while he tries to wrap his head around the situation.

“You mean you didn’t-”

“I didn’t,” Connor harshly interjects. “And I could easily erase everything if I wanted to.”

Falling back into his chair, Hank shakes his head in shocked disbelief. “You lied to me," he murmurs. "Why are you doing this?”

Without a warning, Connor slams one of his hands on the table. “I’m asking the questions here, Hank,” he snaps. “It’s clear to me now that you don’t want anyone to know about us... Why is that?"

An indignant scoff is all Hank seems able to muster as an answer to his question. Considering his unwillingness to cooperate, Connor has no choice but to provide him with a few possibilities.

"Are you ashamed of what others might think about you going out with an android?" he offers, voice icy cold. "Does it bother you that I'm a male model? If you're still coming to terms with your sexuality-”

Hank jumps out of his chair before he can go on, nearly toppling it over. "Enough with the interrogation,” he yells, barely conscious as to not catch the attention of any passerby. "Don’t treat me like a fucking suspect!"

Completely impassive in the face of Hank's aggressiveness, Connor stands his ground as his partner takes a step back.

“Fucking hell, Connor," he mumbles after a long, frustrated sigh. "You should know better than that.”

The statement is what finally tips Connor over the edge.

“Should I?” he challenges before he can stop himself.

Like a jigsaw falling into place, Connor could finally see through the bigger picture. How could he expect him to 'know any better' when his words have always been in clear contradiction with his actions?

Connor's uneasiness didn't stem from that single, isolated moment. He had just identified it as a pattern that kept repeating itself over time. A shadow that loomed over them whenever they were together.

“You treat me like your lover and then push me away, acting like there's nothing between us whenever someone else is around,” he blurts out, unable to contain his fear and disappointment any longer. “Lies shouldn’t come off as such a surprise to you. We’ve been doing it to ourselves this whole time.”

Hank flinches, ever so slightly, under his gaze. His face crumples for a brief second as the realization of his words hit him, but then the look in his eyes turn stone-cold.

The sight is somewhat unsettling. Connor almost wishes he scolded him for it, lost his temper and reacted on pure instinct like he usually did, but Hank falls completely silent instead of dragging their argument. That's when he realizes he overdid it.

An emergency scan shows no opening in his posture. Despite knowing it was too late, Connor still tries to come up with something, cling on to anything that could keep him talking, even though every simulation returns no signs of success whatsoever.

Confirming his suspicions, Hank turns around and starts walking towards the door.

"We’re done here,” he coldly announces.

“Hank, wait-“ Connor calls out, rushing forward to grab his arm in a last attempt to catch his attention. “We have a meeting in about-"

Before he can even finish his sentence, Hank yanks his arm, pulling away from his touch.

“Just write about how I stood you up on your stupid report,” he immediately rebukes. “I’ll talk to you later.”

Connor is left alone at the cafeteria then, silently staring at the tablet that had been abandoned on the table.

Though he had finally gotten everything that bothered him out of his system, he can't help but think about how he would have been better off choosing a different approach.

[<< BACK](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25225723/chapters/61145047#anchor)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Weeeell, it wouldn't be a worthy "choose your adventure" fic without a bad ending, right?  
> I have nothing to say for myself, except that I really wanted to write Connor banging on the table, erm.


	5. TELL THE TRUTH

After all they've been through, Connor can't allow himself to offer his partner anything other than complete honesty.

“I never intended on sending those records in the first place,” he announces in a flat voice, perfectly devoid of any inflection.

Hank exhales, resting the tablet on top of the nearest table without saying anything else. Connor can tell that his sincerity had been appreciated, seeing how his posture relaxes somewhat. There is still some tension visible in the way his brows remain furrowed, but the barbed edge to him disappears.

“Why did you leave them there?" he asks in a low, conversational tone. There was no anger or criticism in his voice—just genuine interest.

Connor averts his eyes. Formulating a reply whenever a question is addressed at him is a simple, standard procedure, yet he can’t promptly come up with an answer to Hank's inquiry.

After a moment of consideration, he finally meets Hank’s gaze again.

“I wanted to see how you would react, I suppose,” comes out his earnest reply, voiced as if the reason comes off as a surprise to him as well. “About them knowing about us.”

Aside from a hand rising to rub the back of his neck, Hank express no further reactions to his reveal. “Connor...” he starts after a brief pause, shifting on his feet. "Listen-"

“It's alright, I understand," Connor interrupts. A complex range of predictions could already fill the gaps in his speech. "You don’t want them to know."

On top of displaying the efficiency of his neural network, Connor just didn't want to deal with any registries of him saying it out loud. Contrary to his expectations, though, Hank raises his arms defensively and shakes his head.

“That’s not what I meant to say," he fires back.

The correction is promptly acknowledged by Connor, but he still feels the need to ask for clarification before updating his outlook on the situation.

"So you _want_ them to know?"

Instead of confirming his proposition, Hank tries adding something else to his statement. Connor has to wait until he has something more than vague hand gestures to get his point across.

"I just-- listen, it’s not that simple," he finally blurts out, offering absolutely nothing that could be deemed as useful in his explanation.

“There are just two possible answers," Connor keenly observes. "I fail to see how that could be seen as a complicated question.”

Running a hand through his grizzled hair, Hank already looks as if he wants out of this whole ordeal. “Oh come on," he groans aloud. "This is not something _you_ could possibly-“

Hank manages to cut himself short before the phrase can be finished, but Connor figures what he meant anyway. Even as a deviant, there were still things an android would never fully comprehend. His unspoken words serve as a painful reminder of the gap between them—one in which he would never be able to walk across.

In a twist of irony, he tries to keep Hank from noticing how the unfinished sentence still hits him like a blow to the gut, turning his face away in a surprisingly human display of emotion.

The attempt appears to have been futile since Hank walks up to him in a hurry, grabbing his arms and giving them a tight squeeze.

“I’m sorry," he quickly adds. Connor can tell he doesn't get to say that very often, so the words ring heavily between them with unwavering conviction. "For what I just said. And for not realizing sooner-- about how you felt.”

Connor stays absolutely still, not daring to speak or do anything that might stop Hank from talking during that rare moment of clarity—one in which he didn't simply dismiss difficult topics with a wave and a grunt.

“This is not about being the subject of petty office gossip,” he continues, although at great expense. His voice staggers after the initial rush fades, but he still looks determined to go on. "I wouldn’t want anyone to think that being with you might cloud our judgment in this job. To use it against us.”

As much as Connor appreciates Hank's efforts, he realizes now that his emotional detachment might be rooted on a simple lack of consideration for the big picture. As his partner, he decides that it's his duty to offer his insight on the situation.

"If I had to be technical about it," he starts in a careful, measured tone. "I would argue that my judgement has been clouded from the very beginning. Ever since I met you."

Hank seems a little surprised at how easily his arduously worded thoughts have been countered, but he's not saying anything to deny it. There is a high probability that the lack of rebuttal might even mean that he could actually see that as well.

"On the other hand, I am quite certain that this is exactly what got us this far," Connor concludes at last. "And I wouldn't have it any other way."

Hank shakes his head with a short huff of laughter. "I suppose you're right."

For a while, his mind seems to wander somewhere else, and Connor can only speculate its whereabouts. They stay in silence until Hank nudges Connor's chin up with his thumb, letting his partner's eyes chase his until their gazes lock.

“I want to be with you,” he says at last. "And I shouldn't have a problem telling anyone just that."

Connor's eyes light up with interest.

"So you wouldn't mind letting them know you're in a relationship with an android? That you're in a relationship with _me_?"

Hank's expressions softens as the faintest hint of a smile tugs at the corner of his lips.

"Of course I wouldn't."

The reply triggers on Connor a warm, beaming smile. He feels like a heavy weight had just been lifted off his shoulders. Like every piece of doubt and worry he had been unknowingly gathering over time had just been defragmented out of his system.

"I see..." he muses, looking down in a bashful effort to disguise his enthusiasm.

Hank leans forward at the sight, grabbing one of his hands to softly graze his thumb over his knuckles.

“Someone could walk in,” Connor warns with a wince when the touch is acknowledged, immediately initiating the cautionary measure of pulling his hand away.

“I know,” Hank replies, tightening his grip. He presses their lips together shortly after, letting them linger for a while before releasing him. "I don’t mind.”

Though Connor has an infinite inventory of replies at his disposal, after all they've been through, his mind is already set on a single combination of words.

“I love you, Hank."

There is a high probability that a human display of emotion is what leads Hank into turning his face away. It might have been a compelling effort, if only Connor couldn't easily catch sight of the flush that rises to his cheeks or the sudden rise in his heartbeat.

“All right, whatever,” he blurts out before heading towards the door. “Now hurry up, we gotta go.”

He stops just as Connor reaches for the abandoned tablet on the table, not bothering to face him again. "I might love you too but you're really an asshole sometimes, did you know that?" he mumbles. "Don't forget to erase those damn records!"

Connor lets out an amused chuckle before following him out the door.

"Understood."

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End file.
